Chapter 14
I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep until I woke up and my hands weren't holding anything.
For days I'd been clutching - my stomach, the bed rail, the thin hospital blanket. In my sister's apartment, I was on a pull-out couch made up with real sheets that smelled like fabric softener. An old quilt was tucked around me, not tight like the hospital blankets but soft. My incisions throbbed, dull and low, but I wasn't curled around them. My arms were at my sides. My mouth was open a little. The apartment was quiet except for the radiator clicking and a spoon hitting the side of a pot in the kitchen.
I breathed in and it didn't catch the same way. I could feel the air go all the way down without bracing first.
Aunt Jen was at the small table by the window, folding laundry. She didn't look up right away when I moved, like she was giving me a second to wake up on my own. Lena was at the stove in Jen's kitchen, her back to me, wearing one of Jen's sweatshirts instead of her green top. Her hair was pulled back. She was stirring something and the whole apartment smelled like broth and carrots.
"Hey," I said. My voice was rough.
Lena turned. Her face did that thing where she tried not to make it a big deal. She just nodded, a small smile. "Hey, baby. You slept four hours straight."
"I didn't guard," I said, and then I wasn't sure if that made sense.
Jen looked over. "You didn't move at all," she said quietly.
Lena brought a mug to the side table next to the couch, not soup yet, just water with a straw. She sat on the edge of the coffee table so we were eye level. I had to push myself up a little and felt the pull at my right side, wincing.
"Easy," she said. Her hand hovered but didn't grab.
For a second I just listened to the spoon again, to the radiator. Then it came out before I could stop it.
"I thought no one was going to believe me," I said. My throat got tight. "In the ER, when Dad said I was faking. I thought you would maybe believe him. Or the doctors would."
Lena's eyes got wet but she didn't look away. She breathed, slow.
"I believed your pain the whole time," she said. Her voice was low and steady. "I didn't say it loud enough in that room. I should have. I hear you, Maya. I did then and I do now."
I nodded and stared at the quilt. I didn't cry hard. I just let the tears sit there while she sat with me. The soup simmered behind us.
Later, after I'd eaten half a bowl of soup sitting propped up with pillows, Lena's phone buzzed on the counter. Jen's advocate from the hospital had asked to come by - a woman named Carla who worked with the family resource center. She was maybe forty, with a short haircut and a big canvas bag full of folders. She spread papers on Jen's kitchen table while I stayed on the couch where I could hear.
Carla walked Lena through the emergency protective order forms line by line. Name, date, incident location - the ER bay. She had Lena write in plain language what had happened: the thrown water, grabbing her arms, the threat as staff approached. Lena's hand shook a little when she wrote but she didn't stop.
"This gets filed at the courthouse today," Carla said. "Judge reviews it without him there first. Hearing will be set for later this week where he can respond. Until then, if it's granted, it will be temporary."
Lena signed the last page and Carla made copies. Then Carla helped her make two calls on speaker. First to my high school attendance office, then to my pediatrician's office. Same script both times, calm and factual.
"I'm calling to flag the record," Lena said, reading from a note Carla wrote. "There is a pending protective order restricting my husband, Ray, from contact with my daughter and me. Please note that he is not authorized for pickups, visits, or medical decisions at this time. I will send the paperwork when the court stamps it."
Both offices said they understood, said they'd add the alert. Lena wrote down the names of the people she spoke to and the time. Carla slipped the copies into a folder and zipped it into her bag.
My phone was off on the dresser, but Lena's lit up on the table around three. She glanced at it and her shoulders tightened. She didn't pick it up right away.
Carla nodded toward it. "Do you want to read it together?"
Lena tapped the screen. Ray's name showed at the top. The preview said, I'm sorry about yesterday...
She opened it. I couldn't see the whole thing but she read it out loud, flat.
"I'm sorry about yesterday, Lena. I lost my temper but you pushed me to it by disrespecting me in front of everyone. Tell Maya I'm sorry she's sore but she needs to learn not to be so dramatic. We can fix this if you just come home and stop making it bigger than it is."
The kitchen was quiet. Jen stopped folding.
Lena didn't type back. Her thumb hovered, then she locked the phone.
"That's blame, not an apology," Carla said softly.
"I know," Lena said. She swallowed. "I know what it is."
Carla held out her hand. "Can I document it? Forward it to me and don't delete. Don't reply. Let me add it to the file exactly as he sent it."
Lena forwarded the whole thread to Carla's number, then took a screenshot the way Carla showed her, with the date and time showing. She set the phone face down. She didn't answer him. After a minute she breathed out and her hands stopped shaking.
That night Jen put fresh sheets on the pull-out and set my meds and water where I could reach. Lena was going to sleep on the floor mattress right next to me. Carla's folder was on the counter, stamped copies to be picked up from the courthouse in the morning. My school and doctor had the flag. Ray's message was saved, not answered.
May you like
I lay back and the quilt settled over me. My side ached but in a healing way, not the tearing way from before. Lena reached over from her mattress and just rested her hand near mine on the edge of the couch. Not grabbing. Just there.
I slept again without guarding.
